


i’d be the dreadful need in the devotee

by newseraphintown



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, everyone is a dumbass including the author, plot holes that you should just avert your eyes to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 06:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19126708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newseraphintown/pseuds/newseraphintown
Summary: Someone keeps leaving notes on his white board.





	i’d be the dreadful need in the devotee

**Author's Note:**

> first post babey!!! 
> 
> To quote the ancient fandom proverb: this is, most definitely, unbeta’d. so I apologize for the gross errors and the giant plot holes, as I had planned for this to be between 1000-1200 words (there’s some god out there laughing at me FOR SURE).
> 
> Commission for Alexis (@gloomycelestial), who is more of an angel than most of the angels on SPN, and is just generally lovely all around! I really hope you enjoy this, although not nearly as ‘gloomy’ as I had intended originally.

Someone keeps leaving notes on his white board. 

Dean considered the possibility of cabin fever getting to him and causing small hallucinations, but after taking a picture of each stupid little scribbled passage to keep as evidence, he’s pretty sure that they’re very real (and very annoying). The extra layer of confirmation came from Charlie, who seemed more than happy to put on her detective hat to try and solve the most boring mystery in the Midwest. He wasn’t so sure that cabin fever hadn’t gotten to her instead.

Every morning after he’s gone to the showers, he finds them. Lucky bastard that he is, he managed to get a room entirely to himself when he applied for student housing, so that rules out a roommate to suspect, one that would know his daily schedule and the perfect time to set up these little pranks. Not only does he come back to a new ridiculous message on his board, but as soon as he’s standing at his door with keys in hand, the weird Theology major that lives across from him is locking his, shower caddy in hand and an indiscernible semi-scowl on his face. The guy always seems to rush past Dean, like he refuses to interact with the lowly Lawrence boy he’s forced to be neighbors with. He’s barely said a word to the guy, yet mentally made it onto Dean’s shit list. Clearly not the culprit, since he’s proven himself to be above any interaction with Dean or his goddamn door. 

From the handwriting alone, he’s already ruled out about four other dudes that live on his floor; Garth writes like a second grader on a sugar high, Benny never does anything that isn’t in cursive like the goofy southern bastard he is, Gordon does those short, all-cap letters that come out neat and clean, and Ash has the same chicken scratch as a well-trained doctor. This handwriting is...nothing he’s seen before. Slanted, neat letters done sharp and precise somehow, even though they’re all written with a crappy dry erase marker. The culprit, to their credit, has some stupidly beautiful handwriting. The notes though...the notes Dean could do without. 

KU has been snowed in for the past week and a half, pushing back finals to an undetermined time, leaving pretty much every student to suffer inside their dorms with spotty-ass WiFi and only each other to keep them company. The view from outside Dean’s window is bleak; the snow refuses to let up for even a second, and from all the news reports he’s watched, it’s been damn near impossible for plows to touch the roads in Lawrence. He’s been forced to spend way more time with the weird, mix-matched crew of the third floor in Templin hall than he has all year, but it’s better than nothing. All this time cooped up behind cinderblock with a bunch of 20 somethings leads Dean to believe he’s the victim of a very bored, very uncreative prankster. Charlie hasn’t been able to leave her dorm either, driving her up the walls just as much as it’s doing to Dean, which means lengthy night time Skype sessions have been a must. 

“So, I got bored and hacked in KU’s student files,” is the first thing Charlie says after she picks up his call. She says it the same way someone would admit to having a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. Dean stares at his laptop screen like she’s grown two heads.

“Uhh. What?” 

“Like I said...I got bored,” she shrugs, far too nonchalant. Although not unexpected behavior from the tech queen of KU, it wasn’t exactly what Dean figured she spent her day doing. 

“Annnnnnnd, since I’m the best friend you could have ever asked for, I pulled the list of everyone who lives on your floor, because you might be cute, but not cute enough for someone to go up or down a whole floor just to write on your door. Considering that the messages are almost all literary references, I’ve decided to narrow down our suspects to creative writing majors and minors, as well as poetry, so we can figure out who’s trying to romance your ass every morning,” she says with a wink, eyes reflecting pages upon pages of open student files. Dean’s scoffs and rolls his eyes. Charlie hasn’t hopped off the “secret admirer” train since this whole debacle began, convinced that the notes aren’t just some elaborate prank meant to make Dean go nuts. A great pre-Christmas gift to his already deteriorating mental state. 

“Nobody is trying to ‘romance my ass,’ someone just wants me to lose my marbles once and for all.” Charlie ‘tsks’ from her end of the conversation. 

“Half of those notes are super old quotes from ancient poets and philosophers, man. And the other half are weirdly beautiful, original pieces of...of...something. Kinda little poem scraps?” Charlie muses. Dean slides his phone off his deck and opens up the folder where he’s been keeping track of all the notes. Most days he barely reads them, just kind of scans his eyes over the board before snapping a pic and erasing the whole thing. It’s been an annoying constant more than anything else, just a weird wrench thrown in his mornings, but always written off as nothing more than a way for someone else to get their kicks by making him question his sanity. 

The first one he opens to, in that same eerily gorgeous script, reads: “The fiercest anger of all, the most incurable, is that which rages in the place of dearest love.” When he had read it the first time, head still a little foggy from the warmth of his shower, he had interpreted it as them calling him a hot head. Figured that someone had seen his near violent attempts to finish his convoluted Tech Engine project a couple weeks ago and was teasing him about it in the weirdest way possible. Now with fresh eyes and Charlie’s insistence that this mystery person intends to woo him, Dean considers more of the notes from before. “It is nothing and everything that stops me. It is a delicate balance that I wish to break.” This is one of the originals, not a reference or excerpt from anyone else. The vagueness had pissed him off before, no room to interpret whatever the hell it was supposed to mean. “How dreadful the knowledge of the truth can be, when there’s no help in truth,” a quote from some dude name Sophocles. “Hear my soul speak:  
the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.” This one he knows; when Sam got a library card a few years ago, he damn near dragged Dean with him after school so he could borrow every book under the sun. Most days Dean would check out the two young librarians, a girl from his school only a few grades ahead of him, and a guy from the neighboring town that volunteered there part time, but once he got bored of being ignored by both of them respectively, he found himself picking up books from familiar names. Shakespeare collections weren’t hard to come by, so he would let himself get lost in the old plays and sonnets while Sammy worked on his massive pile of books to take home. Reading this piece of the Tempest now puts a warmth in his chest he can’t quite name. 

The last one in his camera roll taken earlier that morning reads: “If you could forgive a coward and only one in this lifetime, I pray your mercy could fall upon me. Foolish, foolish me.” 

Somewhere in front of him, Charlie’s voice speaks to him with notable worry. His eyes feel blurry. Why didn’t he think to actually sit down and put the pieces together? Why would he just instantly reject the idea that someone could be doing this for a purpose that isn’t malice or spite? 

“Earth to Dean! You’re freaking me out dude,” she leans closer to the webcam to try and inspect him through the screen. Dean finally looks up from his lap, a slightly hysteric laugh punching out of his chest. 

“Oh my god. You were so right. Someone wants me to read these...they’re not just dumb throwaways. They’re fuckin’ love notes.” 

“Well, I hate to say ‘I told you so’ but...” Charlie says, leaning back in her computer chair like the smug little shit she is. Dean can only laugh more at that. 

“Shut up, you know I hate telling you that you’re right.” 

“Aww, that must suck for you then since I’m always right,” she says with mock-sympathy. Dean’s desk is sturdy enough that when he throws his palms down and pitches his head forward with a “thump” it doesn’t do much to his laptop or phone. Still, Charlie throws him a look and chastises, “Don’t be so dramatic. So someone has a crush on you. Big whoop, you’re a good looking dude who’s gonna make bank when he graduates. Probably just wants you for your money.” 

“Well he’s playing the long con then because it’s gonna take about twenty years before I’m done paying for my student loans.” Even thinking about it makes Dean shudder. 

There’s a very final sounding click on the other end of his laptop, and a triumphant looking Charlie who starts scribbling on a piece of paper in front of her elbows. 

“Looks like we have our two final contestants for this season of KU’s most eligible bachelor,” she holds up the notebook paper to the webcam with a flourish, two names written there: Mick Davies and Castiel Novak. 

Dean stares for a second, putting names to faces. Mick Davies lives at the complete opposite end of the hall which would mean he makes the long trek each morning to write on his board, then walk all the way back before Dean’s out of the shower. He also barely knows the guy. Last time all the guys from the third floor hung out in the lounge, Mick seemed to work the hardest at pissing everyone off with his weird sarcastic comments on every little thing. Benny looked like he was ready to chuck a beer can at the dude’s head every time he turned around. But, some of the original pieces of writing make sense being attached to that British accent...

And Castiel...Dean’s pretty sure that’s his neighbor, which pretty much means that—

“Oh god. It’s Mick. It’s fucking Mick,” Dean throws his hands over his eyes and pushes the heels of his palms down until he sees stars. The last thing he wants to do is go politely turn the guy down and tell him to knock it off with the love notes on his door. 

“Shit, is he not cute or something?” Charlie asks. 

“More like a giant prick who seems to completely ignore social cues for his own amusement.” Dean is seriously dreading every second of this future interaction. 

Charlie pulls back the paper and looks at it again. “So, Castiel is a no?” Dean nods.

“Yeah, he’s my neighbor across the hall, but he seems to hate me for some ungodly reason. Always brushes past me in the mornings like he’d rather eat his own hand than look my way.” Dean thinks of the time he accidentally caught the guy by the shoulder on his way to class, running insanely late and risking a giant markdown on his already suffering grade. The collision hadn’t been that bad, but Dean still managed a sincere “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry” as he went by. That was the first time he actually got a good look at Castiel’s face, saw the light scruff around his cheeks and big blue eyes looking back at him, completely unreadable. Dean had figured the blank, somewhat shocked look meant he didn’t care to respond to Dean being a klutz, so he continued on his way to the stairwell and out of the building without much thought. 

“Damn. Well, I guess your Hallmark movie’s gotta be put on hold for a while, huh?” 

“Yeah, no Christmas miracle for me,” Dean mutters. He can’t believe he’s going to have to tell fucking Mick Davies that he’s not interested in his particular brand of romance. Once word gets around, he can’t imagine what kind of vulgar shit is going to end up in the group chat. 

“Did you even peg him as gay?” Charlie asks. Between his mini freak outs, she must have grabbed her knitting needles and yarn to continue working on her Resistance-themed scarf. (Dean’s pretty sure he’s getting a Ewok beanie from her this year, and he’s pretty stoked.)

“I mean, kinda. But also not really? I dunno, some of the guys here have thrown me for a loop. I didn’t care to talk to him enough to find out who he likes to fuck.” 

Charlie makes a thoughtful noise. “Are any of the other guys on your floor hot? Maybe after this whole debacle is over with, some of the cuties will start coming out of the woodworks. Pun fully intended.” 

“I’ve been so focused on getting these shit-show projects over and done with, haven’t even given it a thought,” he watches her hands move through the screen, eyes focused on the fluid movements, “but...I dunno, Benny’s cool. I think he’s got a girlfriend, but he’s given me some vibes before. Gordon too. And, uh, that Castiel guy would be a contender if he didn’t always look like he was trying to set shit on fire with his mind.” 

“We’re stuck in a snowpocalyse in the heart of the Midwest. Finals are probably gonna be pushed back until after break. Take a pause on the book learnin’ and get you a little something to keep you warm,” she pauses her needles to look up and wink at Dean, “I did. Winter storms pass by much faster when you’re under the covers with someone else to keep you company.” Charlie has that adorable “I’m-the-Jedi-you’re-my-Padawan” look plastered all over her face. He knows she’s right. He hasn’t really pursued anyone at KU since the first few weeks of freshman year. Still, doubt sits like a weight in his mind. Why would anyone waste their time trying to woo him? He doesn’t feel like he’s worth all that trouble, but for Charlie’s sake, he pushes that self-hatred down deep and let’s her regale him with her own dating triumphs. 

———————————————————————————-

The distance between his room and the showers is a short one. Waking up every day to a frozen wasteland outside his window stirs up a deep desire for a long, hot shower, so he collects his caddy and his towel to head for the stalls. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s anxious about having to talk to Mick; the guy’s a bit of a dick, but Dean’s never been good at rejecting anyone. Hopefully he can clear his head a bit. 

It isn’t until he’s stepping into the first available stall that it dawns on him: no shampoo. Dean deflates a bit. Of-fucking-course his shampoo isn’t in his caddy, must have fallen out when he was reorganizing his closet out of pure boredom the day before, so now he’s gotta throw his pants back on and walk over to his room. He grumbles and throws his shit together, even further upset by the fact that he got the shower with the best water pressure on the entire floor. Already off to a good start, he thinks to himself. The bathroom door closes behind him as he rounds the corner.

Holy shit. 

Holy. SHIT.

10 feet in front of him, standing outside his door with a dry erase marker in hand and the messiest bed head he’s ever laid eyes on, is Castiel. 

The guy must not have heard him coming because he continues writing for a few more seconds before checking his peripheral vision to see Dean standing there, shirtless and flabbergasted. His eyes grow wide, mouth opening to form words that never seem to come. The soft noise of the marker hitting the carpet is the only real response he gets. 

“Holy shit.” He says it out loud this time. “It’s you. You’re the one. Not Mick. You’ve been leaving the notes.” Suddenly he’s much closer to his door, to his neighbor, who looks like he would love nothing more than to have the floor open up beneath him like a trap door. Beneath the scruff, Dean can see the bloom of pink filling his cheeks. 

For a moment, they’re both silent again. It’s Castiel who finally speaks up, face morphing into full blown confusion. “Mick Davies? From 325? Has he ever read a book in his life?” 

The unexpected snark breaks the tension for Dean—he feels unexpected laughter bubble up as he rubs a hand across his face. What the fuck is happening? “Yeah, I dunno, I think I just got sick of trying to figure it out. Had a friend help me narrow it down, but...I seriously didn’t expect it to be you.” He watches Castiel’s face soften a bit, embarrassment coming back slowly but surely. The marker is still on the floor between them, so Dean reaches down and puts it back in his neighbor’s hand. 

“So uh. I guess...I should probably ask you why the hell you’ve been leaving these notes on my door, huh? ‘Cause I hate to bring it up, but you clearly don’t like me, so what inspired this elaborate prank? Was it that run in we had when I was late to class? Or uh, a few weeks ago when Benny got me drunk and convinced me to wire the lounge TV to only show soft core porn from the 80s?” 

“Why...why would you assume I was pranking you?” Castiel asks with a tilt of his head. 

“I. Well...I guess. I don’t know man! Why the hell else would someone do this? Leave me Shakespeare quotes and poetry on my door every day?” 

The blush on Castiel face grows. He avoids eye contact with Dean, shifting his body away a bit more, only once glancing back over towards him before remembering he isn’t wearing a shirt, pink turning red very quickly. 

“Was it really that poor of a plan?” 

“Plan? What was the plan, exactly?” 

Castiel feigns nonchalance, shrugging with his face still in flames.

“A plan to...express. Certain feelings. Feelings I am clearly terrible at getting across without convoluted means that only make things worse,” his voice dips quieter and quieter, so low that if Dean wasn’t hooked on every word he would have missed it. 

“‘Certain feelings’? Man, I’m seriously lost. First you give me the cold shoulder for no damn reason almost every day I see you, the next you’re leaving excerpts from Oedipus Rex on my white board? What gives?” 

Something sparks in Castiel’s eyes. “You read Sophocles?” Dean clears his throat.

“I looked it up. Looked all of them up. Wanted to see...see what it all meant, if it meant anything—“

“I like you.” It comes out at nearly the same time that Dean finishes his sentence. When he locks eyes with Castiel again, he’s got that same “may a deity please strike me down now” look on again, but at least he seems determined to keep looking. 

“You like me?”

“Yes.” 

“And...and you’ve been Mr. Darcy-ing me this whole time because...?” 

“Because I had no idea how to talk to you without something like this—“ Castiel gestured between them, “—happening, completely ruining my chances of getting to know you better.” 

Now Dean’s the one blushing, feels the heat hit his face surprisingly fast. He reels at the fact that he’s basically been having his metaphorical pigtails pulled the past few weeks, meaning Charlie was 100% right (and he wouldn’t be hearing the end of her gloating). Every time he looks at Castiel, he can feel the guy making himself smaller and smaller. Like he wants to disappear. It’s strangely charming, just like everything else about the guy; Dean hates to admit it, but there’s something terribly sweet about him going out of his way to write goofy notes on his door everyday but refusing to say actual words to him. But Dean’s also a sucker for communication, so they’ll have to work on that. He thinks he’d like to work on that. 

“I could, you know. ‘Forgive a coward.’ Not much to forgive, but uhh...I think I can find it in my heart and all,” he starts, making sure Castiel is looking at him so the message hits home. He really liked that one, even though it made him sorta sad. 

“You...” Castiel looks fucking mystified. It makes Dean squirm a bit to be looked at with that kind of awe. He seems to change tactics for a moment. “I would be...so grateful.” 

“Don’t gotta be grateful. Just, maybe...leave your phone number next time? You know, so you can text me all your weirdo literary shit and I can actually let you know what I think. I liked them, the ones you wrote, so...” Dean knows he’s fumbling a bit to get his point across but damn it, he wants to be a little smooth about it so he can prove a point. Prove that talking to your hot neighbor doesn’t have to be so difficult. And Castiel, to his credit, gets the picture pretty quickly because there’s a smile that only meets his mouth a little but plays out way more in his eyes. He turns towards Dean’s door again and takes the marker to it, making squeaky scribbles underneath the note from today. 

“I think that should remedy our communication situation,” he says with a full blown dorky grin that kinda makes Dean’s heart hurt. He’s so fucking glad it wasn’t Mick Davies. 

“Cool, yeah, I’ll uh. Save that. Probably gonna be my favorite note out of them all.” 

“You’re doing a fantastic job of making me regret not talking to you before,” Castiel says quietly, still looking lovestruck. 

“We can make up for lost time. Gonna be snowed in for a while, it seems.” As it comes out of his mouth, Dean realizes how suggestive that might have come off, but Castiel seems to take the message for what it is: an innocent invitation. The nights don’t have to be so cold and lonely, and his Netflix queue could use some clearing. 

“If you’re not busy, I’d love to have you over. Maybe tonight?” Dean throws his thumb over his shoulder. “You know where I live and everything. And you can tell me what the hell your name means, ‘cause that’s been stumping me since I moved in.” He earns a laugh, just a small huff of air, but it feels pretty damn good anyway. 

“I was named after an angel, or so I was told.” 

Dean hums. Because of course he was. 

”I got a lot to learn about you, don’t I?” 

“I could say the same about you.” 

Dean smiles. “Then we should probably get started.” 

When they finally part, off to their personal daily routines but with the guarantee of each other’s company in the evening, Dean makes sure to sneak a picture of the final note Castiel left on his door. He keeps all the notes in that digital folder, a complete set now. 

“The first time I heard my name fall from your lips, I knew where my heart belonged.”


End file.
